


Shadows of the Old Republic

by A_Subpar_Author



Category: RWBY, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Light Side Sith Inquisitor, Light Side Sith Warrior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Subpar_Author/pseuds/A_Subpar_Author
Summary: When his underling, Lord Rathari, betrays him, Ket'ran Baal, The Empire's Wrath and heretical Light Sith, is trapped on an uncharted planet in the Unknown Regions. Separated from his wife, his apprentice, and his loyal assassin, Ket'ran must find a way to alert either his allies in the Empire or the Eternal Alliance of his location.Desperate to get the upper hand in their conflict, Ozpin and Salem scramble to recruit these new players.While back home, someone on the Dark Council is making a power play, the Republic is shoring up its defenses, and Darth Imperius is forced to leave his research projects.Dark times are ahead for the world of Remnant.
Relationships: Male Sith Inquisitor/Ashara Zavros, Male Sith Warrior/Vette, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 9





	Shadows of the Old Republic

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 30: Between Light and Shadow  
> It is a period of reconstruction in the galaxy. In the year since Emperor Vowran's ascension, The Sith Empire has begun amassing a fleet to resume its war with The Galactic Republic.  
> Though the two nations may be at a cease-fire, Sith politics continue to claim lives. Lord Rathari, sponsored by an anonymous Dark Council member, has formed a plan to overthrow his master, The Empire's Wrath. He has kidnapped The Wrath's wife, a Twi'lek named Vette, and taken her to his personal Star Destroyer, where he plans to confront his master.  
> Unknown to Rathari, these actions will have consequences that reach to the far corners of the galaxy! Involving a Planet called Remnant, deep in the Unknown Regions...

Patience was a virtue Lord Rathari’s Master had instilled in him throughout his servitude. Despite his heritage and seat on the Dark Council, Darth Ira was a sith who had a remarkable hold on his temper. He never killed without reason, was willing to work with enemies for mutual gain, and even let them go, so long as they did not betray him. Ira’s willingness to fight alongside his men and address their grievances meant they served him out of respect rather than fear (a claim only two other Councilors could make). And since the Emperor's betrayal and Ira’s rebranding to the Empire’s Wrath (a champion of its citizenry answerable only to Emperor Vowran), he had effectively become the face of the Empire.

Yes, Rathari had learned patience and been rewarded with the strength to rid the galaxy of such an insult to sith teachings. And how wonderfully ironic that it would be the Pureblood’s mercy that gave him the opportunity. With the aid of the “rogue” crew of the Star Destroyer,  _ Pummeler _ , Rathari had exploited the Wrath’s greatest weakness.

The Twi’lek that had accompanied Darth Ira to Nar Shaddaa all those years ago was bound on her knees before him. Though, to Rathari's increasing rage, she looked more annoyed by the situation than fearful. She kept turning her head to observe different parts of the bridge and would sigh loudly and dramatically every few seconds.

Another sigh escaped her lips, followed by “Such a shame,” and Rathari was officially fed up. He snapped to face her, swelling the Force around him so that his presence would seem larger. “And what, exactly, could my prisoner find so disappointing about being held on the bridge rather than the brig?”

If Vette hadn’t spent the last five years sharing a bed with, arguably, the most powerful sith in modern history, she might have been intimidated. Instead, she took another purposefully long wistful look around the room. “I’m sorry, it’s just I don’t get to see them  _ not _ on fire all that often.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the would-be dark lord’s face contort into a look of confusion. She would’ve smirked if she didn’t need to keep the ruse up longer. “And when Ket’ran gets here, he’s going to be mad enough to throw you into those nice new consoles.”

Rathari’s face twisted in rage. “When my master arrives, I will tear him limb from li-”

“And then Krovos is going to be mad, because ‘we can’t afford to waste ships in petty power plays.’” Vette had to restrain her smile even more at the blatant shock that Rathari was showing. Even some of the crew were aghast at her blatant interruption of the sith. “And Vowran will tell her to calm down because  _ he’s _ just happy to see another court drama.” She leaned in as far as her restraints would allow and dropped her voice to a conspiratory whisper. “I think he actually  _ gets off _ on this kind of thing. And then the whole dark council will be mad at Ket’ran for having to deal with a horny Emperor!”

Now the whole bridge was listening and with more disgust than the few who had caught her earlier disrespect. Few in the Empire would dare refer to the Dark Council, let alone the Emperor himself, with such casual ease. But for an  _ alien _ to insinuate that Emperor Vowran’s libido was tied to the murder of his own Councillors was unthinkable.

Rathari roared in indignation and stretched out with the Force, wrapping its dark tendrils around her neck and lifting her from the ground. “You are a worm! Not fit to service my lieutenants! What value the Wrath places upon you, I cannot see, but the only reason you still live is to bring him to his doom!” He used the force to send her flying across the bridge, before resuming his vigil at the viewport.

Vette coughed to regain air, but her eyes shone with satisfaction. She knew enough about starships to know which lights indicated a ship approaching out of hyperspace, and she knew that her little speech had distracted the active officer from seeing them go off.

It was only a few moments before the other familiar lights began flashing and an officer at the rear of the bridge shouted, “My lord, we’ve been boarded!”

“What?!” Rathari shrieked indignantly. “How did we miss their exit from hyperspace?” His entire body was tense with a familiar energy that accounted for a not-negligible percentage of Imperial field promotions.

A young commander fumbled over her words, trying to find some combination that would spare her life. None came to her before Rathari’s lightsaber cleaved her head from her body.

“All squads focus on the intruders!” A chorus of “yes sirs” sounded from around the room. They would fail. Even among the Dark Council, the Wrath was legendary for his strength, easily worth three times the number of soldiers aboard the  _ Pummeler _ . But they were not expected to kill him, merely slow him down. Rathari glared at his prisoner. Somehow she was responsible for this. He would’ve killed her if he wasn’t waiting for Ira to witness the act. 

Waiting.

Rathari let out a dark chuckle. Even now, Ira was giving him a final lesson. It did not matter how many the Wrath slew, let him come. Rathari would be rewarded for his patience.

* * *

Jaesa considered her master in the fluorescent light of the turbolift. He towered over her, eyes closed, hands folded behind his back, and his chest expanding and contracting rhythmically to some unheard metronome. The bone spurs that hung from his cheeks and chin were straight as blaster bolts, and his posture matched. He was the picture of serenity in a form she had only ever seen from Jedi Council members.

But the force revealed a different picture. Beneath the calm facade, rage at his guards’ incompetence mixed with concern for Vette’s well being. Stirred by the passion that defined all his relationships, it would soon reach a boiling point of doubt and rage that would soon explode. He hadn’t fallen; her power to sense a person’s true nature revealed him to still walk in the light. But he walked a dangerous precipice. Even after his return from carbonite, when he’d spent five years under Vitiate’s influence only to come back to a galaxy that had fallen in his absence, he’d been able to restrain himself better.

Of course, he’d been beaten in a fight then. Seven years ago, Ket’ran Baal, the Wrath the Emperor betrayed, had stood against an impossible foe and seemingly died to give the galaxy a chance to fight back. Tonight, Rathari’s men had managed to break into his personal chambers while he was away and kidnap his wife. There was nothing he could have done.

She knew he needed encouragement. And, despite what they might have thought, Quinn and Pierce’s assurances that they’d win the battle were not the right ones. Ket’ran loved Vette more than anything in the galaxy, in a way she’d never thought possible. And, Jedi code or no, Jaesa cared for her too.

Those first days aboard the  _ Competitor _ had been hard. Despite her conviction that going with the sith was the right thing to do, she’d found herself pacing in the sickbay, reeling from the weight of her decision. Then Vette had popped up behind her and asked if all Jedi were that jumpy. Jaesa knew the Empire’s stance on aliens and was afraid that Vette was a slave. But the Twi’lek laughed and told her the story of how Ket’ran freed her. From then on, Vette became the big sister she never had. Whenever she had a rough day or needed time away from the stuffy Imperial atmosphere, Vette would get some credits, and they’d go out to the local cantina. Sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they wouldn’t, but knowing that she had someone made the hard days more manageable.

“Vette would kill you if she saw you like this.” She finally said. 

“Rathari has betrayed my trust and made a fool of my abilities.” His eyes opened to a glare. “I will not allow him to harm her too.”

“She knows you’re coming for her, and she trusts you to do that.” She placed a hand on his upper arm and gave him a meaningful look from the half-meter between their eyes. “If you doubt yourself now, then that trust is misplaced.”

The fear that had been choking the turbolift lessened as the Sith Pureblood released a long breath. He placed his massive hand on her shoulder and fixed her with a wry look. “You must have spent more time with the Jedi at the Alliance than I thought.”

She smiled back at him. “What kind of apprentice would I be if I didn’t keep an eye on our enemies?”

The pair shared a laugh, and the oppressive cloud of emotions lessened further. It did not dissipate, but it no longer threatened to snap the car from its rails. As the smile faded from his lips, she heard him say, “Thank you, Jaesa.”

She felt the Turbolift come to a stop as she assured him, “Always, Master.”

* * *

The bridge’s atmosphere was filled with the delicious scents of fear and doubt that came before any battle. Rathari could almost taste the emotions rolling off his troops as Ira’s lightsaber cut its way through the blast doors. He relished in them and added their strength to his own rage and anticipation. Twelve of the Empire’s finest “defectors” manned their posts around the bridge, ready to fire upon the sith at Rathari’s word. Before him, two of his personal guard stood over his captive, who would be executed on his command, in the bridge’s center. And Rathari himself stood with his back to the transparasteel window, lightsaber in hand, ready to pounce upon his master in his moment of weakness. A vindictive smile could not be restrained from his face.

A squat cylinder of the door flung itself across the room, requiring Rathari to bisect the projectile or become the paste that fastened it to the window. He chose the former and brought his lightsaber to bear upon the durasteel in time to see the remaining doors be flung aside by the Wrath’s favored apprentice. A dozen blasters rose to face her, and Rathari could feel his anticipation turn to gratification. He would draw this out. Savor the moment. “Welcome, my master.”

Vette, wearing her own grin, did her best to upset his fun. “Hey, love. Try not to be so late next time. I was ready to leave an hour ago.” She rolled her head foe emphasis

Save for a quick grin in her direction, Ira’s own countenance portrayed only the grim determination of a predator. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a nexu ready to pounce. “This is an error I cannot forgive, Rathari. Surrender, and your death shall be quick.” His voice came out in a low growl that usually accompanied shouting an enemy to death with the Force.

Rathari laughed and pointed his blade toward the captive Twi’lek before him. “What right do you have to call for my surrender? I have your precious girl. My men outnumber you seven to one! The only one who should surrender here is you!” Another wicked laugh washed over his tongue with all the intoxicating joy of Correllian brandy. “But I don’t want you to surrender. I want to expose your weakness before the entire galaxy!” He motioned for his guards to execute the girl. “I want you to suffer!” The guards raised their blasters to her head, and Rathari felt the ecstasy of victory wash over him.

Only for it to be replaced by bitter surprise as the guard on his left fell roughly to the ground as though he was struck. The other guard turned to look for an attacker, allowing Vette to roll towards Ira. A pair of red blades a shade softer than Rathari’s own crimson sprang to life, aiding the viridian blades of Willsaam’s saberstaff in deflecting the hail of blaster fire that started from every corner of the room.

At the same moment, the unmanned hyperspace sensor began flashing. Rathari was soon distracted by klaxons indicating a red-alert as two Star Destroyers returned to third-dimensional space on either side of the  _ Pummeler _ . The older and more battle-hardened, he recognized as the  _ Conquest _ , the most victorious ship in the fleet. More fear filled him, however, at the sight of the newer, more extravagant Destroyer. Emperor Vowran’s personal attack vessel, the  _ Bloodsport _ , was firing upon the  _ Pummeler _ . Its appearance pushed only one question to Rathari’s mind. “How?!”

* * *

On two separate ships, Major Pierce and Royal Advisor Quinn shared a vindictive smile at the thought of how massive Rathari’s headache must have been.

* * *

“Cutting it close there.” Teased Vette. A soft click that was nearly drowned out by the battle sounds indicated her escape from her bonds. And a moment later, she pulled her blaster from the hastily affixed holster on Ket’ran’s thigh.

The master sith deflected a shot back toward its sender and spared a momentary glance at his re emancipated wife. “I had things well in hand.” He assured her, redirecting another shot at some foolish officer who’d decided he didn’t need to find cover while reloading.

“He put a droid through the lift controls, so we had to find a different one.” Stated Jaesa, in a neutral tone she reserved only for witticisms and Dark Council meetings. If she found her master’s indignant cry and Vette’s snorting laugh amusing (she did), she didn’t show it.

Further up the bridge, a fully decloaked Broonmark finished off Rathari’s personal guards, much to the sith’s growing rage, and began making his way back to the group. But he was prevented from reaching them by the usurper himself. The Talz’s vibroblade narrowly deflected Rathari’s high sweeping blow. He struggled against Rathari, but for all the skill the assassin possessed, he was nothing in the face of a sith lord.

Rathari released his push on the blade and spun into a kick that sent Broonmark to the floor. “Ira!” He roared. “Face me!” With Force enhanced speed, he charged the Wrath. A leaping slash was blocked by Ira’s twin sabers in an x shape, leaving the two full-fledged sith to struggle against each other in a contest of strength. Rathari poured all his rage into his limbs and managed to force Ira to lean back. The Councillor’s calm facade only serving to drive his fury further.

But Ira was not really calm. The hatred he felt for Rathari was unequaled by any before. His spurs trembled in unyielding fury, and his orange eyes looked almost gold. At this moment, Ket’ran Baal: Honorable Warrior was not here. Nor was Darth Ira: Killer of Baras. In their place stood the title he was feared for across the galaxy. At this moment, with his wife’s kidnapper mere centimeters from his face, he  _ was _ Wrath.

A roar, enhanced by the Force with all the rage and fear Rathari had caused, sent the human flying across the room and into an officer’s station. Sparks flew as he dodged mere moments before the Wrath plunged both of his sabers into the space Rathari had just occupied. Many consoles were destroyed in this manner, with Rathari managing to barely dodge the killing blow each time. It ended with Ira catching Rathari in the leg with his saber, sending him prone.

“It can’t end like this!” Protested Rathari. “You’re weak! You don’t deserve to be the Wrath!” He gasped as Ira’s weapon pierced his chest. He felt the cold talons of death, dragging him to the beyond. And in his dying moments, the last words Rathari heard were “Yes. I do.”

Ket’ran sheathed his weapons and returned to the bridge’s center, where Jaesa and Vette were tending to the wounded Broonmark. They’d struck down the last of Rathari’s traitors during the siths’ duel, and the corpses filled the room with the scent of burning flesh. He looked down at the Talz with an expression that didn’t portray as much concern as he genuinely felt (Broonmark disliked anyone taking pity on him, and Ket’ran respected that). “How is he?” He asked Jaesa.

Broonmark interrupted whatever the padawan would have said with a series of buzzes. To Jaesa’s apparent annoyment, they were accompanied by a series of emphatic gestures that made applying kolto difficult. “I’m sure you can, old friend. But I would prefer to hear from someone more versed in the medical field.” Laughed the Sith. Another set of buzzes and grumbles was said to no one in particular, and Ket’ran turned his attention to why he was here.

His dark orange eyes met deep blue ones, and in an instant, all the rage and fear he’d been feeling melted into the Force, replaced with love and relief. The spurs on his cheeks angled outward, and a bright smile spread across his face as he took her hand in his. She graced him with her own radiant smile, and the relief and comfort she radiated in the force served to calm him further from his rage. “Are you alright, Vette?”

Her smile turned coy. She held up a hand and spun the cuffs that had held her just moments ago around her index finger. “We’re keeping these.”

Jaesa made a noise of disgust behind them. “Can’t you at least wait until the kids are out of the room?” Buzzes of agreement came from Broonmark, who was using his sword for support. Ket’ran and Vette shared a laugh, and a subtle flick of her lekku let him know that this conversation was not over.

The happy moment was interrupted by a lurch that shook the entire ship. The main holoterminal began ringing, and after recognizing Quinn’s ID frequency, Ira patched him through. “My lord, you need to get out of there. One of our gunners hit the engine room, and now our sensors indicate that the  _ Pummeler _ is about to make the jump to lightspeed.”

“Where to?”

“Unknown, my lord. It would seem the navigation was knocked out somehow.”

Ket’ran’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the aisle of terminals that had been casualties in his fight with Rathari. “A mystery for later then.” He turned to those with him on the bridge. “Time to make our leave.”

* * *

Lack of access to the near turbolift meant that, once again, the party had to make their way to the ship’s other side to reach the hangar level. Ket’ran had already ordered 2V-R8 to keep the engines running. Despite the lack of opposing soldiers this time, the damage caused by ship-to-ship combat meant that the way back was just as tricky. Fire lined the hallways, and debris made some paths entirely impassible. The unsteady rumbling of the damaged hyperdrive grew worse by the minute, causing any debris that was only loose before to shake from its place on the walls and ceiling.

“Be ready for takeoff on my word, Toovee.” Said Ket’ran into his comm. “The moment we’re aboard, we’re-”

The most intense shudder yet rocked the ship, just as the group crossed the threshold of the hangar. Through the magnetic shield, the inky black of space could be seen changing to the swirling blue and white of hyperspace to the dismay of all.

Jaesa turned to look up at the sith lord. “Master?”

Ira shoved his annoyance at this turn of events to the side. He needed to focus on getting them back to Dromund Kaas. “Get Quinn on the holo. He’ll be able to track our position once we come out of hyperspace.”

His apprentice nodded and took off up the ramp to do as he’d ordered. Broonmark followed soon after, hobbling up with some (protested) assistance from Vette. Ira was just about to follow them when a warning from the Force told him to move.

Falling on muscle memory that predated his Korriban trials, he fell into a roll that took him over his shoulder and resulted in him facing opposite the way he had been. His eyes widened in shock as a piece of debris went sailing for the place he’d just occupied, propelled with the Force by a phantom.

_ “IRA!” _ The words were felt more than heard. The gaping chest wound assured that despite whatever power allowed him to stand, Rathari would need something more substantial to survive the near future.

Ira growled and, on instinct, charged the reanimated sith lord. Rathari threw another piece of debris (the remains of a snub fighter perhaps) at him, but this time Ira used the force to deflect it. It hit the ceiling above the hangar door, causing a collapse that cut them off from the  _ Competitor _ . He was in such a rage that he didn’t care. He wrapped his hands around Rathari’s shoulders, tackling the walking corpse into a wrestling match.

* * *

Aboard the  _ Competitor _ , Vette finished dropping Broonmark in sickbay and returned to the main cabin, where Jaesa had Quinn on the holo.

“I’m having them run every gravity well in your last recorded trajectory. The moment you exit hyperspace, we’ll be there.” The advisor looked more than a little distressed. No doubt, he wasn’t looking forward to a potential third failure of his master. Ever since his failed betrayal seven years go, Quinn had become unshakably loyal to Baal. After the Zakuulian Empire had invaded, he’d stayed with Vette the longest in search of him. Now faced with a frighteningly similar scenario, he looked as though he might break a tooth if he kept his jaw clenched as it was.

Jaesa nodded. “Good. I’m not sure if the  _ Pummeler _ is going to make past reentry.”

“Where’s Ket’ran?”

Vette’s question brought their conversion to a halt. Jaesa looked alarmedly back at the entrance, while Quinn looked as though he’d been struck. They weren’t ready to deal with this. Not now. Not again.

A horrified 2V-R8 ran from the cockpit to the cabin. “Master Wrath has stayed to fight another Sith Lord!” The cobalt droid was shaking enough that the rust in his joints was beginning to shake loose. “The hangar collapsed behind him! He’s trapped!”

Vette felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. This wasn’t be happening. She’d already gone through five years of this hell before. To do so again…

“He’ll make it.” She declared. This wasn’t like the Zakuulians. They didn’t have to run this time. “He’ll find another way out.” She locked eyes with Jaesa. “And we’ll be ready for when he does.”

* * *

Ket’ran slammed Rathari into a wall with the Force. “Why!” He sent him into the opposite wall. “Won’t!” The ceiling. “You!” The floor. “Die?!” Panting and covered in sweat, the Empire’s Wrath threw the undead sith lord toward the end of the hall. Rathari seemed inexhaustible. No matter what Ira threw at him, he got back up. Now down an arm in addition to his lung and leg, the rogue sith was a horrifying sight. Cracked and burnt skin covered the Human’s body near the injuries, and the way he walked on his stump must’ve been excruciating.

“I am the superior sith!” Challenged Rathari. His lightsaber brandished in his remaining off hand. “Only one of us will walk away from this! And it will. Be. Me!”

He would have begun a new round of combat if the ship hadn’t chosen that moment to return to real space. Damage must have occurred to the inertial dampeners, for both sith were thrown off balance at the action. The Wrath caught himself on the ledge of a nearby window.

In the void of space, he could make out the  _ Competitor _ leaving its hangar. His mind reeled as he realized that he had abandoned his crew. He cursed Rathari for clouding his judgment yet again. The man made it difficult for him to keep his focus. Ket’ran sheathed his lightsabers, and centered himself in the Force. “You’re right, Rathari. Only one of us will walk away.” He pulled on the weakened ceiling, causing yet another collapse. “And so I shall.”

Not sticking around to hear his foe’s reaction, Ket’ran turned on his heel and made for the turbolifts. Standard Imperial design was to keep at least two escape pods near them on each floor in case of emergencies. He slammed himself into the craft, which had most certainly not been designed with his proportions in mind, and hit the eject button.

As the controls decided he was far enough from the  _ Pummeler _ for manual flight, his comm detected something. He tuned in to the signal to discover a homing beacon tied to his ship. He immediately sent a reply, ready for his crew to retrieve him so they could return to Dromund Kaas.

And then the  _ Pummeler _ exploded.

* * *

On the  _ Bloodsport’s _ command deck, Advisor Malavi Quinn watched in abject horror as his transmission with the  _ Competitor _ cut to static. The officers nearest to him froze in a similar shock to their commander at the development. The Empire’s Wrath and those he traveled with during the great galactic war were legendary for their ability to survive even the most formidable opponents. But the silence from the holoterminal was damning.

Quinn’s outraged cry broke the silence. “Find them!”

The bridge was at once alive again with navigators and comms officers relaying orders to other departments on the ship. And if they noticed that the rest of the orders Quinn gave that day came with the slightest of trembles in his voice, they said nothing.

* * *

“Guys, look! It’s a meteor shower!”

Jaune Arc groaned as his bubbly teammate’s voice shattered his pleasant sleep. A look at his scroll resulted in another, more pained groan. “Nora, it’s 3:27. Go to bed.”

The pink bombardier ignored her leader, choosing instead to watch what was surely a once in a lifetime celestial event.


End file.
